


Giving Up

by Ponderess



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood, Character Study, Gen, Guns, M/M, Other, Relationship Study, Smoking, sex mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 04:52:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6038779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponderess/pseuds/Ponderess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a moment Wakatoshi's eyes shift from Tōru's face to the colt in his hand. Then he looks away again, leaving his back exposed as a broad target for Tōru to aim at. He doesn't comment on the gun, he doesn't keep an eye on Tōru to see what he will do. It's like he doesn't care — or he's certain Tōru would never shoot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Giving Up

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for an art/fic exchange with [Czer](http://czerwik.tumblr.com/). (If it's okay with her I'll link to her art here once she posts it.)
> 
> This is basically Battle Royale AU, but I'm not tagging that fandom. Also, do not worry if you don't know it, everything should be sufficiently explained.
> 
> [[Tumblr Post](http://arokitty.tumblr.com/post/139460979690)]

_When he was thirteen, Tōru nearly drowned. He went down to the lake with Hajime and they decided to test how far out they could walk on the frozen surface. He must've reached a spot where the ice was just a bit thinner and it broke under his weight. The cold water engulfed him, air escaped from his lungs, the surface drifted away, his heartbeat slowed down. He doesn't remember fighting, he doesn't remember much at all, just images blurring in front of his eyes._

_Kiyoko-san, whose father runs the orphanage Tōru lives in, was really worried. A few days after the incident, he overheard her arguing with her father over having him see another doctor. 'He didn't try to swim', she said, 'he just gave up!' Her father dismissed it, noted that he must've been in shock from the sudden drop of temperature. He wondered which one of them was right, but he couldn't tell._

_Tōru doesn't think he wanted to die. He never contemplated suicide. Since his parents lost their lives in a car accident, he's been considering death to be this inescapable certainty that will come for everyone sooner or later. But that's just reality. He dreams of flashing lights and blood dripping into a dark puddle and bodies that have gone limp and he doesn't know how much of it he's actually lived and how much of it is his mind filling in the gaps his parents left behind when they died._

_Tōru never really talked about this with anyone. He didn't think he needed to. As far as he's concerned he's alright — as alright as you can be when growing up in an orphanage with very little perspective in life. He got lucky enough to escape death twice, so maybe he'll be able to do it a third time. If not, then he figures that just means it's his fate._

* * *

The red is mesmerising. It runs down into a dark pool of liquid on the ground where it swirls around lazily. Something about it catches Tōru's gaze, as if it were magnetised and drawing him in. The sight enthrals him while his brain fails to process what it means. It's like he's missing something obvious, something really important — something vital even. It's just a colour and he doesn't even like it that much, but he can't look away.

Amidst it all Shōyō lies unmoving, unfazed by the dark fluid soaking through his clothes. Tōru cannot see his face — is he sleeping? What a strange place to pick, what a strange time. The earthy ground doesn't serve as a comfortable bed and it's still daytime. But he's so quiet and calm, so unlike himself. You'd expect a bubbly kid like Shōyō to thrash around in his sleep more.

Wakatoshi is crouched down besides Shōyō, his body hiding Shōyō's face from Tōru's view. For all he knows Wakatoshi could be checking on Shōyō, 'though why would he?', a sceptical voice asks inside of his head and he can't think of an answer which feels convincing or plausible. Wakatoshi isn't the caring type, he should know.

There's hardly a shift in Wakatoshi's posture and Tōru can't see much of his face when Wakatoshi glances over to him. He wonders what sight presents itself to Wakatoshi: a frightened boy with a gun in his hand which he is too afraid to aim? That silly heart of his is beating fast inside his chest again like it used to do before he ever stole a kiss from Wakatoshi's lips. He thought he was over being a bundle of nerves when around Wakatoshi, but this is proving him wrong.

"It's you," Wakatoshi notes and though he's stating the obvious, Tōru has no idea what he means by it. Yes, it's him, Wakatoshi knows him, so what is he trying to say? That he recognises him? That he didn't expect him to show up at this place and this time? That he can be at ease because it's Tōru and not anybody else?

For a moment Wakatoshi's eyes shift from Tōru's face to the colt in his hand. Then he looks away again, leaving his back exposed as a broad target for Tōru to aim at. He doesn't comment on the gun, he doesn't keep an eye on Tōru to see what he will do. It's like he doesn't care — or he's certain Tōru would never shoot.

Not for the first time Tōru wonders about that expressionless face of Wakatoshi which is completely hidden from his view again. There was no sign of fear or relief in it at the sight of Tōru, not even recognition. Wakatoshi's eyes didn't flicker to the gun with worry or anxiety, nor did he show any overconfidence or amusement at how Tōru's hand clutching the colt is hanging limply at his side. There was nothing, no hint to go on. His face isn't more telling than the back of his head and Tōru can't read him. Tōru can never read him.

* * *

_The neon light flickers up once and for a moment you can actually read the word 'BAR' on the shabby building across the street instead of the usual '3AR', because the owner is too poor to replace the broken fluorescent tube. Everyone is too poor around here and who really cares what the lettering above the entrance says, as long as you can drown your sorrows in alcohol inside._

_Tōru is sitting on the hood of a car with his arms resting on his cocked up knees. He doesn't know whose car it is and if it's still working or not, it was just standing around. It isn't his concern, however. Eyes following every movement of Wakatoshi's hands, he's watching in the dim reddish light as Wakatoshi opens the small cardboard box._

_It's from Kiyoko-san, the packaging that is. A few days ago it held the perfume which she received as her birthday present from her father — a rare luxury in the neighbourhood they live in. Kiyoko-san hasn't used one drop of the perfume yet, but she handed over the cardboard box when Tōru asked for it. It was the best thing he could think of to use as a packing and he received a gentle smile from Kiyoko-san when she handed it over — the kind of smile that has the heart of most boys at the orphanage beat faster._

_Tōru's heart is beating faster now, too, but not because of Kiyoko-san. He decided to be bold and give a present to someone he likes, but knows so little about. There's no way for him to tell how Wakatoshi will react to it. They've only started seeing each other a few weeks back and don't talk about personal things — or much at all in general. Still, Tōru has a big crush and while he's trying not to be too obvious about it, he's also decided to take his chances._

_Wakatoshi blinks as he examines the content that isn't quite suited for the insides of a perfume packing. "What's this?"_

_Baffled that Wakatoshi would have to ask, Tōru answers: "It's a necklace."_

_"I can see that," Wakatoshi notes, though he doesn't sound impatient over receiving information he already knows. "But why are you giving it to me?"_

_Embarrassment is welling up inside Tōru. He wasn't prepared to explain his motives. Looking away, he mumbles: "It's a present."_

_"A present?" Wakatoshi echoes. "What's the occasion?"_

_Tōru wraps his arms tightly around his legs and rests his chin on his knees, trying to ignore his heart beating in his throat. He's still unwilling to meet Wakatoshi's eyes or speak up. "No occasion, I just wanted to give you something."_

_Wakatoshi holds up the silver necklace and inspects it in the neon lights faintly illuminating their side of the street. Dangling from it, the trinket shaped like an eagle with spread wings shimmers in the red glow. "What's it worth?"_

_It seems like Tōru's heart won't be getting a break any time soon. The possibility of rejection has been looming over him the whole night and whatever Wakatoshi's reaction means, it certainly isn't along the lines of 'thank you, I appreciate it' as he would have hoped. But what did he expect? Wakatoshi's father is a wealthy company owner — the richest man in town — surely Wakatoshi is used to fancier presents. Maybe he should have gotten one of the golden necklaces after all. None of them had such a nice trinket as this one, though._

_"You're not supposed to share that kind of information about a present," Tōru points out, feeling a little bummed. This clearly went better when he pictured it in his head._

_Wakatoshi doesn't say anything more than that. He puts down the packing on the hood of the car and hangs the necklace around his neck. He hasn't buttoned up his white shirt all the way to the top and the small eagle fits right into the gap of its open collar._

_Tōru lifts his head, feeling more hopeful that his gift is actually appreciated, but mostly uncertain still. Wakatoshi's expression hasn't changed ever since he laid eyes on the present._

_"So...do you like it?" Tōru inquires reluctantly. "Or should I exchange it for something else?"_

_For the first time since receiving the gift, Wakatoshi glances over to Tōru. "How can you exchange something that you've stolen?"_

_Tōru bites his tongue, feeling caught. Wakatoshi is right. He can hardly drop the necklace back at the jewellery store where he let it slip into his pocket and pick up something else instead. Leaving aside the fact that he couldn't even guess what Wakatoshi might like more, it feels inappropriate to get another present, now that Wakatoshi made it clear he's aware of how Tōru got his hands on this piece of jewellery._

_This really isn't going how Tōru imagined it, but at least Wakatoshi put the necklace on. That should be a good sign, a sign that he's accepted it._

_Trying to move past his insecurity, Tōru slides off the hood and steps up to Wakatoshi. He tucks at the collar of Wakatoshi's jacket and pulls Wakatoshi down until their lips can touch. He's slowly getting used to having to be the one to initiate every kiss, as long as Wakatoshi goes along and grabs his hips to pull him closer it's fine. He slings his arms around Wakatoshi's neck and enjoys Wakatoshi's touch. He likes Wakatoshi holding him._

* * *

There's no relief in seeing a familiar face, though Tōru wished there was. After the tension of the last twelve hours, he wants nothing more but to break down in Wakatoshi's arms and cry. He wants to drop the gun and cling to Wakatoshi instead. It's the promise of this last shred of comfort in a world that is falling apart around him. 

But Tōru cannot have it. This piece, too, will break away from him, he's sure. Reality is cruel like that, barely giving him anything and then ripping it out of his clutching hands again. Even if he wants to hold on to it in a desperate attempt to maintain a sliver of hope, it will be taken from him no matter what.

Tōru knows, because it happened before. In one moment, his whole world changed when the car collided and the crash took the lives of his parents in the front seats. He remembers calling out for his mother, but the only answer he received was the sound of blood dripping onto the floor. His parents had gone quiet and they never woke up again.

Neither will Shōyō, Tōru just didn't want to believe it at first. But no one is sleeping this soundly when their life is on the line. No one stands much of a chance when lying in a puddle of their own blood. Most likely, Shōyō was already dead when Tōru arrived. Something tells him he'd rather not see where exactly the blood comes from.

When Wakatoshi shifts and leans over to the side, the sight is revealed to Tōru nonetheless. He thinks he can make out the cut throat beneath Shōyō's metal collar even though the blood from it seems to have coursed everywhere and is sticking to Shōyō's whole neck. It's too much, he turns his head away and screws his eyes shut. However he wasn't fast enough to stop himself from catching a glimpse of Shōyō's empty eyes staring up into the tree tops.

* * *

_The alcohol tastes just as cheap as it looks, though Tōru isn't going to complain about something he lifted from a liquor store on a stroll through town. At least it prevents him from chugging down too much of the stuff and getting drunk too fast. Savour the state of tipsiness, so to say._

_Hajime lights a cigarette, the only bad habit that Tōru hasn't adopted from him. That, and maybe punching people in the face who piss him off. Hajime got into his share of fights when they were younger and the other kids at the orphanage hadn't learnt yet not to annoy him — and most certainly not to say anything about him being an illegitimate child and neither of his parents wanting to take care of him._

_Tōru was the first to have ever actually befriended Hajime — he can be very persistent if he wants to — and they've been hanging out ever since. They got to share a room, because Hajime would throw out anyone else sooner or later. They stole a bottle of booze once just to see if they could and drank it while listening to a record of forbidden rock music from the West which Hajime got his hands on. Tōru had no idea if it was American or English but it didn't really matter to him. Kiyoko-san almost caught them, so from then on they decided to consume their liquor outside of the orphanage._

_There was little they did not do together. In middle school they joined volleyball club. When they got to high school they were told the government had declared volleyball an 'obsolete sport unworthy of refining', but they could join any other sports club. They chose none in protest and spent their additional time strolling through town. That's when Hajime picked up smoking and Tōru admittedly became less interested in kissing him._

_Hajime wasn't an obvious crush. He was a friend and he was comfortable because of all the time they spent together. It was that and curiosity that led them to push the boundaries when they were still new to sexuality and intimacy. Neither of them was considering what they had to be something exclusive and when Tōru gradually retreated, Hajime didn't question it. Hajime doesn't like commitment anyway._

_They still hang out and Tōru gets to lean his head on Hajime's shoulder while his hazy mind mulls over random ideas. He ignores the smoke of Hajime's cigarette as best as he can and hands over the bottle of liquor. It's the break before their final year in high school and that has something gloomy about it. Once they graduate from school, what will there be for them? A job that will eat them up inside and barely earn them enough money to get by?_

_Compared to that, school is relative freedom. Even if more than just some teachers are annoying and most lessons are boring and being graded sucks, they're free to do whatever they like from late afternoon till night time — with the obvious governmental restrictions placed upon them. All of that will surely be over once they graduate._

_"Say Iwa-chan," Tōru begins, tongue already heavier from the alcohol._

_"Mh?" Hajime mumbles and takes a sip from the bottle in his hand._

_"What do you think you would do if we ended up in the Program next year?"_

_Hajime takes a drag from his cigarette before answering: "Certainly not contribute to the defence of our country."_

_That has Tōru chuckle — though it's more of a weak and dry "ha!" that comes out of his mouth. It's a good answer if you ask him, one that almost has him serenade Hajime's witty tongue. Though that impulse might be due to the alcohol and he represses it just as he doesn't speak his own rebellious words in affirmation. Instead he adds them in his head in silence: 'Choke on your own lies, shitty government scum!'_

_"What kind of question is that anyway?" Hajime wants to know._

_Tōru would shrug if he weren't too lazy and also sure that Hajime wouldn't notice the gesture. He lifts his heavy head and pulls away from Hajime to sit upright again. The movement was a bit too fast and he has to pause to wait out the dizziness while coloured shapes dance in front of his eyes._

_"I've just been thinking...there's a chance our class might get chosen," Tōru explains quietly as he rubs his eyes. "...and I wondered what I would do in that case."_

_With the cigarette between his lips, Hajime caps the liquor bottle and puts it aside. Then he takes a lung of smoke before exhaling it back into the cold air. "What? Are you making a hit list of the people you don't like? In that case you're on the best way to become the sole survivor."_

_"Hey!" Tōru exclaims and nudges Hajime's arm. "That's rude!"_

_It's true that while superficially Tōru gets along with others easily, he's very judgemental beneath it all and will think badly of the majority of people behind their backs. Hajime knows this because Hajime has been listening to all the mean remarks he makes about them and likewise added a few comments here and there. However, despite all of the nasty things he has wished on others, killing them would be on a completely different level and he considers himself far from reaching it._

_Hajime doesn't apologise for his remark — he's not required to. While Tōru complains about his teasing every time, Tōru doesn't take it to heart._

_"I don't think I could do it, not even if my life depended on it," Tōru notes quietly. "I think I'd just give up."_

_This time it's Hajime's turn to nudge Tōru's shoulder. The light shove catches him off guard though and the alcohol clouding his senses decreases his reaction time, so he nearly falls sideways off the table they're sitting on. Hajime has to grab him by the arm to prevent him from tilting over and to get him to straighten up again._

_"Do you have a death wish or something?!" Hajime exclaims while he's reluctant to let go of Tōru who still seems a little wobbly._

_Maybe Tōru is drunker than he thought — how much alcohol is left in the bottle anyway? He isn't even sure if Hajime was commenting on his words or on the fact that he nearly fell over — or possibly both. He might be at a stage of confusion where he gets unsure even about obvious things._

_"No," Tōru mumbles while rubbing his forehead in disorientation. "I don't have a death wish."_

_Somehow he doesn't sound very convincing._

* * *

"Aren't you going to shoot?" Wakatoshi asks without sparing another glance over his shoulder. His tone isn't curious, there's no challenge in his voice, nothing.

Tōru isn't sure how to respond. He wants to trust Wakatoshi, he wants nothing more than to tell Wakatoshi that no, he isn't going to shoot — he would never. But this is no time for trust — he isn't so naïve as to actually think it was. Besides, as far as his life is concerned he trusts no one with it. He never has.

Yet Tōru still can't bring himself to raise the gun, to outright turn against Wakatoshi. "Are you giving me a reason?"

Wakatoshi doesn't answer immediately. He's rummaging through the daypack he reached over to grab earlier. Tōru isn't sure who it belongs to, but the way he's sifting through the contents with his right hand, Tōru would guess it was Shōyō's and he's looking for things he can loot.

"The rules of this game say that we are to kill each other off," Wakatoshi points out calmly while inspecting a small axe he pulled out of the daypack and then putting it aside. "Isn't that reason enough for you?"

'So screw the rules', is what Tōru wants to say but it would be pointless. There's no way of doing that, avoiding to get dragged into this sick event is only a temporary solution and sooner or later they will all fall according to the Program's rules. If 24 hours pass without anyone of them dying, their collars will explode. It's a simple but effective tactic to appeal to the survival instinct of each involuntary participant. If you want to live through this, your best chance is to kill.

"Is that reason enough for _you_?" Tōru returns the question. Though he thinks he knows the answer, he needs to hear Wakatoshi say it, say that if he has a choice he'd rather take the lives of others to save his own.

"No," Wakatoshi declares surprisingly and rises to his feet. As he turns around Tōru spots the knife he's holding in his left hand. The steel blade looks clean, but there's blood sticking to the grip and his fingers. "I tossed a coin."

* * *

_It's past curfew by now and the most reasonable thing to do would be to hurry back to the orphanage before anyone can notice his absence. But Tōru doesn't want to leave when outside the rain is coming down in big, heavy drops. Why would he expose himself to the cold, wet weather when he can remain here in bed with the warmth trapped beneath the sheets and trace the shapes of Wakatoshi's scars with his finger._

_Tōru never asked Wakatoshi about any of them, but the rumours of how Wakatoshi ended up in hospital for several weeks last year made their rounds throughout the whole school, so of course he's heard things here and there. However, he couldn't care less if Wakatoshi and his friends — or however you want to call the people following him around — got into a fight with some yakuza or if he was hit by stray bullets when he was hanging out in the wrong area of town._

_What matters is that Tōru gets to touch Wakatoshi, gets to be with him. While Tōru isn't an invited visitor and merely being tolerated by him, that's more than anyone else can claim. The first time Tōru climbed up to his window, he gave Tōru a long stare before saying he isn't receiving any guests at his home. Yet he let Tōru kiss him and sneak into his room. From then on Tōru was allowed to come over as long as no one noticed. None of his friends have the same privilege._

_Wakatoshi's scars aren't a secret. Everyone can see the cut running across his left cheek, starting close to the corner of his mouth and ending just beneath his temple. Then there are the traces two bullets left in his skin — one went through his right upper arm and the other one got stuck in his right shoulder — which at least the boys stole glimpses of in the locker room. But Tōru is certain he is the only one that gets to touch them._

_Above Wakatoshi's right ear, Tōru spotted another scar, sneaking up from Wakatoshi's temple into his hairline. It's thin, fainter than the cut running across his cheek, older. It doesn't stick out unless you're up close and paying attention. Though it didn't catch Tōru's eye when he was stealing glimpses from afar, he's studied Wakatoshi's face often enough by now to notice it._

_With gentle fingers Tōru slowly pushes up strands of Wakatoshi's brown hair to see how long the scar is beneath it. This one he's the most fascinated with, this one he wants to know the story of. It's from an accident, most likely, so nothing compared to Wakatoshi's other scars and their almost legendary status. That's what makes it all the more special to him._

_"Where did you get this?" Tōru asks, tracing the scar as far as he can between the roots of Wakatoshi's hair. He's lying on his side with his head propped up on his arm, so he can get a good look at it._

_Wakatoshi blinks lazily. "It was a car accident."_

_Flashing lights, blood dripping, limp bodies. Tōru allows himself a brief moment to be overcome by the memories before he pushes them from his mind again. It's been ten years since and all he has is faded images welling up in his dreams. There's not a lot he can put into words, because so much of it is lost. What was the last thing his parents said to him? He doesn't remember. Even the details of their faces vanished long ago._

_"Tell me about it," Tōru requests, his voice almost a whisper._

_This is something. It feels like something. A connection where Tōru never expected there to be one. Be it only in the faintest, most construed way, he will take hold of it if he can. He cannot explain his desire to be close to Wakatoshi, though he recognises its selfish nature. He doesn't know how to switch it off, so he has to learn how to live with it._

_Wakatoshi hasn't been very forthcoming in that regard. They spend time together, they kiss, they have sex. Yet sometimes Tōru feels like the intimacy of it all is missing. Wakatoshi's interest is waning so quickly and most of the time it's as if his mind is somewhere else. It makes him seem unapproachable, like no one is worth it for him to disclose himself, his thoughts, his feelings._

_"I don't remember," Wakatoshi declares, blocking off another way Tōru had hoped would bring him closer to who Wakatoshi really is beneath the blank face and the distant eyes. "I wasn't born yet."_

_Tōru is startled. "What do you mean, you weren't born yet?"_

_That sounds like an unusual scenario. He's not sure how to picture it, so he has to ask. It might be considered insensible, but in general, so is Wakatoshi._

_"I was told that my mother was in a car accident when she was eight months pregnant with me. A shard of glass pierced her belly and my head inside."_

_As Wakatoshi explains this, his voice doesn't waver. You'd think that it was someone else he's talking about, not himself and his own mother. The only notable change is him slightly shifting his head away from Tōru's fingers as if to evade them. So Tōru gives up on tracing Wakatoshi's scar and lets his hand sink onto Wakatoshi's shoulder._

_He cannot stop his curiosity, however. "How did they get it out?"_

_"I believe they cut me out of my mother's womb and pulled it out. I didn't ask."_

_Tōru is surprised. If he were in Wakatoshi's shoes, he'd want to know as much as possible about what happened. Though he didn't inquire about his own accident, that was because he'd lived it. Whatever memories he retained let him conclude that his parents bled out before any medical help arrived. The parts he no longer recalls were surely forgotten for a good reason._

_"What about your mother?" Tōru inquires. He's not sure if she's still alive or if Wakatoshi is a semi-orphan. They never talked about their families._

_"She died."_

_Wakatoshi declares it without a trace of an emotion, still Tōru responds: "Oh. I'm sorry."_

_That's when Wakatoshi turns his head over on the pillow and looks at Tōru. It's like before Tōru wasn't worth considering, like Tōru wasn't even there with him. Or rather, Tōru was there to Wakatoshi all this time, but the fact that he is his own person with his own thoughts and motives didn't occur to Wakatoshi until just now. Unless Tōru is being paranoid and just imagining things. He's never sure with Wakatoshi and that already caused him sleepless nights._

_"Why are you apologising?" Wakatoshi wants to know._

_'Why indeed?' Tōru wonders. Wakatoshi doesn't seem to hold any attachment to the memory of his mother. He doesn't look like he's upset about losing her like that, before he even could get to know her. He doesn't need sympathy._

_Tōru shrugs. "I don't know. That's just what you say when hearing about someone's loss, isn't it?"_

_"Loss?" Wakatoshi repeats and before he turns away Tōru can spot the lack of understanding in his eyes._

_Sinking back into the pillow, Tōru watches as Wakatoshi gets out of bed and starts putting on his clothes. Tōru remembers lying in this very spot while Wakatoshi was playing the violin, repeating the same melody over and over until he could play it perfectly. Once he fully mastered it, though, he tossed the violin away and Tōru never saw it again._

_Back then Tōru was puzzled, but he figured that Wakatoshi just isn't the sentimental type. While he's watching Wakatoshi button up his shirt however, he thinks that it's something more — or rather something less. Despite the long hours Wakatoshi must have invested in learning to play the violin, he dropped it without a second thought once he was done with it. Tōru wonders if Wakatoshi is similar when it comes to people. He wonders where that leaves him._

* * *

"You tossed a—" Tōru breaks off and huffs incredulously.

There's no need for him to ask Wakatoshi if he heard wrong — he knows he didn't. Still it's so hard to believe. Despite Wakatoshi's usual display of indifference this seems like too much even for him. Tossing a coin is how you might resolve a trivial decision — like which booze you're going to get when they all taste equally as bad — but it's not something you fall back to when it's a matter of life and death. Killing is something you have to reconcile with your conscience; you don't leave it up to probability.

Yet that's exactly what Wakatoshi did and from the look of it he doesn't recognise the absurdity of the idea.

"What was it?" Tōru questions and he can taste the cynicism on his tongue. "Heads and you'd kill, tail and you'd let yourself get killed?"

For an instance a shade of curiosity passes through Wakatoshi's eyes. "Would those be the options you'd choose from?"

Tōru doesn't respond. He isn't sure — would they? Considering it, those are the only options he can come up with. It's kill or be killed, that's what the instructor wanted them all to remember. They even had to write it down 15 times on a piece of paper before being sent out into the field one after another.

"Heads and I'd play the game," Wakatoshi clarifies while taking a few steps away from Shōyō's dead body, "tails and I'd wait it out until the end."

Though Wakatoshi hasn't come directly towards Tōru, there's still less distance between them now. It occurs to Tōru that he's lost some of his advantage if he doesn't back away. Yet the indirect approach doesn't make Wakatoshi appear more threatening and — to his own surprise — he's not on the verge of panic yet.

For an instance, Tōru lets his eyes wander over to Shōyō — to the empty shell that remains of his classmate. "I take it you got heads."

"I did."

There's no need for Wakatoshi to confirm what Tōru concluded. That Wakatoshi still does sends a shiver running down his spine. A voice in the back of his head tells him to get out of this place, to bring as much distance between himself and Wakatoshi as possible. People always said that Wakatoshi is dangerous and that it's better to stay away. Yet he never listened and even now a more dominant part of him insists on staying.

"Does that scare you?" Wakatoshi inquires. He's watching Tōru carefully as if to pick up on every hint of a reaction. "When Satori had this realisation, he ran."

"Didn't do him any good," Tōru comments dryly. He remembers hearing Satori's name this morning when the instructor announced the people who died last night — along with Reon, Eita and Hayato. They were all Wakatoshi's friends and had a reputation of being tough and ruthless — and yet they met their end in the first few hours of the Program. He had a creeping suspicion, but now he's certain that Wakatoshi killed them all without remorse.

Unable to ignore it, Tōru's gaze keeps wandering back to Shōyō lying in a pool of his own blood. Wakatoshi acts as if Shōyō wasn't there, as if it didn't matter that he took Shōyō's life. He doesn't flinch at the memory of Satori, even though Satori was his friend — or at least they seemed to be friends. Tōru remembers the discarded violin and the conversation they had about Wakatoshi's mother and it occurs to him that for Wakatoshi there's no difference between the two.

"You don't care," Tōru notes quietly, his eyes transfixed on Shōyō's body even though he doesn't actually see it, because his vision has become blurred. "Things, people — they're all the same to you. In your eyes, we're all disposable."

"I didn't think you'd understand," Wakatoshi notes matter-of-factly. Had Tōru thrown the words in his face like an accusation, he wouldn't be any less indifferent. "You always seemed so fragile in my arms, as if I could easily break you with my bare hands."

"Then why didn't you?!" Tōru hisses. Instead of fear at the knowledge that Wakatoshi won't make an exception for him — that he's no more special than the others — he feels anger. He doesn't know if he's mad at Wakatoshi for leading him on, or mad at himself for giving in to his silly desires and exposing himself like that.

"You didn't bore me yet." Wakatoshi takes a few careful steps towards Tōru. "You still don't."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" Tōru inquires bitterly, still not looking at Wakatoshi's face.

With every passing moment, with every additional word Tōru feels increasingly hollow. He's used to being abandoned or being disregarded. None of his relatives wanted to take him in after his parents died and instead he ended up in an orphanage. Part of him always figured that sooner or later Wakatoshi would leave him as well. He both feared the day that would happen and tried to convince himself that it wasn't going to come.

Tōru wants to laugh at his own foolishness. To think that he actually believed Wakatoshi cared about him at any point. He doesn't even deserve pity for this self-deception, because he could have known better — he _should_ have known better. Despite that he opted to delude himself. He wanted to mean something to Wakatoshi, so he believed in words he never got to hear.

When Wakatoshi stops right in front of him, Tōru isn't even sure how Wakatoshi got there. He feels the nudge of fingers that force him to look up at Wakatoshi's face. His eyes keep staring while his brain is still processing so little of what they take in.

"Tell me, what are you feeling?" Wakatoshi demands to know and it's the oddest thing he ever asked.

Tōru would spew curses and insults at Wakatoshi if he had the mental strength left to be that openly resentful. But there isn't even enough venom in him for one spiteful remark, so he settles for a begrudging: "Can't you guess?"

"No," Wakatoshi admits without any ado. "I never understood what the matter with people and emotions is."

A cynical smile twists Tōru's lips into a grimace as he cocks his head to the side, escaping Wakatoshi's loose hold on his chin. "So you're a heartless asshole."

"I have a heart; like for anyone else it's beating in my chest," Wakatoshi disagrees. "How it's supposed to be related to feelings when all it does is pumping blood through my body is beyond me."

Dangling from its silver chain around Wakatoshi's neck, the eagle pendant he gave to Wakatoshi months ago catches Tōru's eye. He remembers how pleased he felt that Wakatoshi put it on and how delight sparked up in him whenever he noticed Wakatoshi kept wearing it. It meant so much to him back then, now it's just another foolish notion.

"It's a metaphor," Tōru responds to Wakatoshi's musings without meeting his gaze. "You shouldn't take everything so literally."

"Useless semantics," Wakatoshi dismisses it.

Looking up at him, Tōru points out: "Just as useless as it would be to tell you how I feel."

Wakatoshi accepts it quietly. Maybe he realises that he wouldn't be able to understand Tōru anyway if Tōru began talking about emotions, or he wasn't as interested in the first place. It may have been a fleeting curiosity which he didn't consider worth prying into.

One way or another, it doesn't matter to Tōru. He doesn't question Wakatoshi's waning interest or why Wakatoshi is still wearing his present when he was nothing more to Wakatoshi than a means to pass the time. After everything, he's tired of trying to figure Wakatoshi out. He's tired of it all.

What prompts him to do it, Tōru cannot say. The night was short and he barely got any rest and whatever of his resources hasn't been drained by anxiety and stress over being stuck in the Program got used up by confronting Wakatoshi. He's completely spent and just doesn't give a damn. Feeling like he's about to collapse in on himself, he leans into the closest support he has.

Wakatoshi is standing firm and unrelenting, not budging under Tōru's weight pressing against his chest. He doesn't back off or shove Tōru away. On the contrary, he wraps his arms around Tōru. It's odd, yet Tōru doesn't have the presence of mind to question it.

His body relaxing, Tōru lingers in the embrace. Past and future become insignificant. It doesn't matter that Wakatoshi is still holding the knife in his hand or that the gun is slipping out of Tōru's fingers — he's never had a use for it anyway. His world may not have stopped falling apart but he's beyond caring. He found some comfort to cling to, his hands gripping the hem of Wakatoshi's shirt with the last bit of strength he has left.

Tōru buries his face in the curve of Wakatoshi's neck, willing to blend out everything. He barely registers one of Wakatoshi's hands slipping from his back and moving up towards his throat. But he clearly hears Wakatoshi's voice in his ear.

"You've been a curiosity till the end, Tōru."


End file.
